Chapter 9 #3
“’Bout time the boy brought a feller home!” A man who stood taller than Adam clasped Mo’s hand and pumped it hard. He didn’t introduce himself, but fortunately, the Motor Monkey did that for him: Uncle Ian. “We always knew you’d be from away if you was from anywhere ’t all.”
Mo didn’t know what to say in the face of so much East Coast Canadian. “Um.”
“Lemme tell ya, the whole family’s been wonderin’. I’s been telling Dunc and Katie-did, is a hard go. That boy o’ yours is fartin’ around and if he don’t brings you home a horse’s arse tomorrah, he ain’t gonna for twen’y years!”
Mo scrambled to translate and came up about seventy-two percent sure Uncle Ian doubted Adam’s romantic game. “Well, um, sorry to prove you wrong?”
Uncle Ian laughed. “You’re a right card, I can tell. Now, you looks drier’n a covered bridge. Let’s find yous some beers.” He turned away and Mo breathed another tiny sigh of relief.
He turned back to Adam and found himself being watched. Adam crooked a smile and stepped, slipping an arm around Mo’s waist and pressing a kiss to his temple. Mo’s heart rabbitted. What was he doing?
Then Adam turned his face toward Mo’s ear to hide his mouth and murmured, “You okay? You look a bit overwhelmed.”
Mo blinked in surprise, then suddenly noticed the family watching them with indulgent smiles. Well shit, points to Adam for figuring out a way to give Mo a breather without having to drag him from the room. Thinking fast, Mo Yes And-ed, and turned into the embrace.
“I’m fine. Just a bit… more than I was expecting.” Honestly, when strait-laced, restrained Adam said his parents were teachers, Mo had pictured a lot more quiet reading time in home libraries.
Adam huffed. “More people? More volume? Or more incomprehensible Miramichi dialect?”
“Meer-ma-she?”
“Miramichi Valley is northeast of here. Mum’s from there but hasn’t lived there since she was a teen. Uncle Ian’s never left.”
“Uncle Adam!”
Adam bussed another quick kiss to Mo’s temple—for verisimilitude, Mo guessed—and pulled away to address the ginger tornado from earlier.
“Chuckie!” He scooped the kid high in the air and then settled them on his hip. “Chuckster, I want you to meet my new friend, Mo. Mo this is my favoritest niece, Chuckie.”
“I’m your only niece, that’s what Mum says!” She spun her gaze to Mo and evaluated him. “I’m Chuckie and I’m five-and-a-half, so I go to school.” She held out her hand.
What the hell. Mo grasped her tiny hand and shook it gently. “Hello, Chuckie, I’m Mo. I’m twenty-four and three months and do not go to school.”
Chuckie nodded as if she’d expected this information. “You go to work.”
Well. That was awkward. Figuring it was best not to attempt an explanation of adult allowances and parental expectations, Mo said, “It’s the sad lot of adults.”
“Adults are boring.”
“Hey now, I’m not boring, am I?” Adam teased.
Chuckie patted his cheek. “Only sometimes.”
Repressing a laugh, Mo choked out, “His job is pretty cool, though.”
“I guess. Nobody else at school has an en’chell uncle.”
“No, I bet NHL uncles are pretty rare around here,” Mo agreed.
“Thanks, Chuck,” Adam said dryly. “But you know who has a cooler job?”
“No. Who?”
“Mo.”
Mo tried not to stare, but where was Adam going with this? Mo had no job. Adam knew this.
“He does?” Chuckie eyed him dubiously.
“Yup. Mo fixes cars.”
The change was instantaneous. Chuckie’s gaze turned sharp, and her body coiled with so much tension, she practically vibrated. She looked ready to launch herself from her uncle’s arms. “You’re a mechanic?” Her eyes burned with emotion.
“Um, yes?”
“What’s your favorite car make and model?”
“Uh.” Mo stared at the pint-sized human, who was leaning toward him at an angle that made Mo thank the universe for Adam’s hockey muscles keeping her airborne. “I’m not sure I have just one… What about you?”
“I have five!” She held up one hand, fingers splayed as far as she could manage. Then she started the list with “a 1981 DeLorean DMC-12” and Mo almost fell over. That car was older than he was! It was older than her parents too, surely. How did she even know what that was?
“Wait, wait,” he stopped her before she could get to the next item. “Why the DeLorean?”
Chuckie reared back so fast, Mo thought for sure Adam would drop her, but the change of balance didn’t faze him.
Mo should know better by now; if the guy could carry Mo with no issues—“Cause its doors open like this,” she said as though Mo were very stupid, and then she made an M shape with her hands and raised her elbows so high, Adam had to dodge so she didn’t hit his chin.
This child was a safety hazard.
Chuckie followed with, “Come on, I’ll show you,” and then squirmed for Adam to put her down. Before Mo could even wave goodbye to the rest of the family, she grabbed him by the hand and dragged him deeper into the house.
Honestly, Mo felt relieved. He might not have experience with children, but he didn’t have experience meeting his fake boyfriend’s entire enormous, incomprehensible family either, and a one-on-one with a car-obsessed five-year-old seemed the lesser of two evils.